Age of Heroes (Arthurian Saga)
by Firefly-shy
Summary: Revamped: In sixth-century Europe, a young Brythonic monarch struggles to win back his throne from Roman occupation. According to a prophecy, he'll need the help of the daughter of the moon goddess, but she's currently in the hands of his enemies. A semi-historical retelling of the Arthur mythology a la Sailor Moon, with Senshi and Shitennou as early Brythonic knights and ladies.
1. Chapter One (with short Preface)

Age of Heroes

Chapter One

* * *

It began as a wind off of the sea on the west coast of Caledonia. The wind whipped up the waves cresting into the shore and the jagged, shear cliffs of the islands, then wended its way across the plains south, over the farming land, rustling the flax as it sped. It whistled through stone walls, causing fires to gutter and twist. It threaded through forests and over lake surfaces, rippling the still waters, then found itself in a lonely valley where it remained for a whole two nights, growing stronger and fiercer. Rains began to accompany the wind, then hail, howling like wolves and smashing with deafening crunches into the hollows, ponds, and thatch roofs.

The storm gathered force and the people in the valley clung to each other and prayed for the rain to stop, but the gods didn't answer their prayers until morning.

When the storm cleared, a bolt of lighting had struck a tree near one cottage. The tree was leaning crazily, split open down the middle, one sizzled branch resting on the roof of the cottage. Ice accumulated at the base of it from collected pieces of hail while the center of the tree continued to smoke from the electric fire that had rendered it, in one dazzling flash, into two parts. It was still warm to the touch.

The farmer's wife had had a child that night, with hair as white as the moon, born as the lighting hit the tree. When the village priests saw it, they knew the child must be gotten rid of. It wasn't natural to have a child born of the elements. Such children might be the children of gods themselves. Better to let the gods take care of their own.

Her parents placed her in a boat and sent it out to sea. A seagull landed on the boat as soon as they pushed it out past the waves and the sea, which had been rough, suddenly calmed. As if it were alive, the sea rocked the boat and pushed it farther and farther away, until the villagers lost sight of it. They left, one by one, knowing that the child would die or survive at the will of the gods.

Only one of them remembered to record the birth with the visiting Christians, who liked to keep records in their clean, spare hovels. When asked what had happened to the child, they replied that she had been still born.

The farmer and his wife soon had another child to care for, and for a time, everyone forgot about the white infant. Often exceptional children are born from unexceptionable circumstances and among ordinary people.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Sailor Moon. This story is meant to be read as fantasy and is only_ loosely_ based on real/mythical events, places, and people. It is not meant to be historically accurate.

**Author's Note: (See below) **

* * *

Hello, all. I haven't written in a while, but this story sort of came at me while I was trying to finish those others I've promised to finish. No knowledge of early British, Irish, Welsh, or Roman history is necessary to understand it (heck, I don't have much myself, but I'm doing my best), and you don't have to know a darn thing about King Arthur to understand it either, though it does make it more fun (I guess).

Without giving too much away, here are some names that might give you trouble:(many of these have more than one pronunciation, but these are the ones I prefer)

Bedwyr (BHED-er)

Naoise (NEE-sha)

Caius (KIE -us)

Emrys (EM-rees)

Luned (LIN-ed, similar to Linet or Lynette)

Iseo (EYE -say-oh)

Gwenhwyfar (GWEN-ah-fear)

Artemesia (Ar-teh-MEE-zha)

Please enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2 - The Oracle

Age of Heroes

The Oracle

* * *

"Are you certain?"

The voice rang out clearly through the crowded audience chamber of the present commander of the Western Roman territory, Lucius Adamantus. His steely blue eyes, a clear reminder of his natural coldness, flashed dangerously.

"I'm certain, my lord."

The man who addressed him could have been his twin. Their features were very similar, high cheekbones and sloping jaws gave them the appearance of men who'd been carved from granite, though the younger man's eyes were a clear gray and his nearly white hair cut short in a military fashion. He still wore his armor and the dust from the road clung to his cloak. The grime of travel only served to emphasize the sharp lines of his face, making him appear older than he was, older than his leader.

"If this is true, and the Vortigern has really failed so miserably to hold back the barbarians, we do not have much choice."

Caius continued to watch his commander in a stony silence. He didn't particularly relish being the bearer of bad news, but the gods tended to withhold mercy rather whimsically, he reflected.

He cleared his throat.

"What orders, my lord?"

Lucius sat down on the large, ornamental seat, carefully crafted from bronze, and regarded his younger brother with thinly-disguised frustration.

"There is nothing else we can do, Caius," he said, "But leave them to their fate."

Caius's face flinched, but he gave no other sign of his emotions at hearing this.

"My lord, there are several large Briton towns close to our northern borders. They are farmers and villagers. They can't defend themselves."

Lucius's face didn't change at all.

"They will have to depend on the protection of their British king."

"He is dead, my lord," Caius reminded his brother.

"Yes. So what part of my orders have you failed to understand?"

Caius lowered his eyes and bowed his head, pulling his arm to his chest in a brief salute.

Lucius turned from his brother and toward the arrival of his priest.

"Ah, at last, some news I wish to hear," he said with a smile.

"My lord, there is news," the priest answered. He was wearing the robes of a worshiper of Apollo, one of the few remaining brotherhoods in the west with the advent of Christianity and the recent religious tolerance practiced by the Emperor.

"The child has been found, the moon child."

Caius frowned, raising his head. His eyes trained sharply on his brother's suddenly ecstatic face.

"Yes, where?" Lucius eagerly breathed.

"My lord, we found the child on an island off the west coast of Albion. We believe that the gods may have brought her there and raised her themselves for there was no one else on the island."

Lucius' brows snapped together.

"Her?" he murmured to himself.

"But, are you telling me you've brought her with you? You actually have the moon child? Where is she?!"

The priest took a step back from the eager ruler.

"She is resting. The journey by sea was tiring for her, and she is young -"

Lucius waved his words aside.

"I want to see her as soon as possible. Arrange for her to appear before me tonight."

The priest opened his mouth to protest, but another look at Lucius' face convinced him to close it and bow instead. He exited the audience hall and Lucius' sharp command ensured that all the others, except his own personal guard, left as well.

"Stay, brother."

Caius halted at the door and turned, careful to keep his features cool and respectful.

_Give nothing away_, he chanted to himself. It was a strategy that had helped him survive.

"Come here, Caius, and sit. You must be weary."

Lucius gestured to the table beside him with a long wooden bench. He snapped his fingers and one of the guards instructed a serving woman to bring food and drink.

"I'm sorry I had to be so forthright with you, Caius," Lucius began, seating himself beside his brother.

"You understand how these things are, I know. It is a pity that I must not show favoritism even to a brother I greatly admire."

Caius allowed himself a small smile for Lucius' sake.

"What was all that talk just now?" he ventured, "What is this 'moon child'?"

A strange look stole over Lucius' face and he drew a hand through his shaggy white-blonde hair. The faint birthmark, like and upside down crescent moon, briefly appeared before he self-consciously scraped his hair in front of it again.

"While you were in the North, a woman came to me with some...interesting news. A prophecy, if you will."

Caius' eyes narrowed.

"Now, now," Lucius tsked, "I know what you're thinking. But this was something different from the ordinary legerdemain those street magicians peddle. This woman had heard of a prophecy among the Sassanids, a rumor, of a very powerful being."

"What do you mean?"

"They seem to think this...child I've managed to dredge up is some sort of half-deity. They call her 'moon child.' Now, don't ask me why. Do I look like I understand any of that? That's why we have priests. Still, I think there is something in it."

"And what do you want with a moon child? Or a half-god? If such a thing exists?"

"I want her because, according to the Sassanids, she's a very important person."

Caius blinked.

"That's it?" he asked. "She's important?"

"Well," Lucius laughed, "Who cares if she's real or just some half-wild witless girl, if the Persian Empire wants her so badly, as I've been led to believe according to my sources, then Rome certainly needs to keep her."

Caius' grey eyes widened, taking on a silver glint.

"The Persian empire wants this girl you've found?" He repeated, "But why? They can't really believe that such things exist."

"Careful, brother," Lucius said, wryly, "You're beginning to sound like an atheist yourself."

Caius shrugged his shoulders, a smile twisting at his lips.

"I believe in the old gods," he said, quietly, "As do you. But I've never seen a human that was anything more than mortal. These barbarians we fight against, many of them have beliefs that their leaders are animal spirits, or spirits of the earth and the sky, but they bleed and die all the same."

"Incurably pragmatic, Caius. You lack imagination. What does it matter what the Sassanids believe? If they want the girl, then I want her too."

Lucius stood, but motioned to Caius to remain sitting. The serving woman brought the food and put it before Caius, filling his cup with wine, and then timidly retreated.

"I've got to send your message on to the Emperor. He won't be pleased that we've lost the British territories, but perhaps he will decide to send another legion to take back the lands from the invaders. Perhaps, if you lead such an expedition, he'll make you king, eh?"

Since Lucius had his back to him, Caius frowned, wiping his hands with the wet cloth provided and proceeding to taste a grape.

He heard Lucius chuckle on his way out the door.

"Yes, you'd make a fine King of the Britons."

Caius tried to swallow the wine, but it was bitter.

* * *

"Blast!"

A tall young woman looked down at the three-inch mud hole she'd just stepped in and pulled her foot out with a distinctly disgusting squelch. She wrinkled her nose at the caked refuse on her boot.

"This would have to be my best dress," she muttered, trying vainly to rub the mud off against a tree.

She heard muffled laughter and paused to look up, her face, had she known it, flushing prettily and setting of her clear green eyes.

Two soldiers were standing at the gatekeep's house, watching her, whispering to one another, and laughing.

Luned frowned and pulled herself up to her full height, trying to ignore the mud.

They stopped whispering as she approached them, but only to run their eyes up and down her person, taking note of the auburn hair braided back from her face with curling tendrils escaping from her long walk, the good quality dress, traveled stained, and her generous curves, of course.

Luned felt herself blush, which only made her angrier.

"I've come to see the local magistrate," she said.

At once their eyes narrowed.

"British, are you?" one of them asked.

"Yes, and so are you," she shot back.

He stared at her in surprise, but soon recovered.

"Are you a citizen?"

"Of course I am," she retorted, "Why do you think I want to speak to a Roman lawman?"

Her manner was rapidly taking away any advantage her good looks had won for her.

"What would you want with a lawman?" the taller of the two guards asked, roughly.

"That's my business," Luned said slowly through her teeth, trying vainly to maintain a firm grip on her temper.

The guards looked at her a moment longer, weighing, she thought, whether they could get away with roughing her up a bit, but something in the way her hands clenched into fists changed their minds. Who wanted to be caught beating a woman in the streets anyway?

"Come on, then. I hope it's important."

His tone seemed to hold a silent threat of her fate if it wasn't.

Luned relaxed her hands, adjusted the pack on her shoulder, and followed him through the gate into the Roman outpost. He led her through the lower yards where she watched the soldiers drilling or performing chores. A few were rubbing down some large horses. She noticed a rougher looking segment of the outpost with small, cramped windows and no mud insulation.

"What do you keep in there?" she asked, naturally curious.

"Prisoners."

Luned's eyes widened.

"You keep _people_ in that place?" she asked, astounded.

The guard stopped in front of a heavy door with a metal framed slit at the top and knocked.

It was opened by a man in longer robes, a clerk or scribe, Luned guessed. He looked at her with vague interest and surprise, but asked her to follow him once the guard had made it clear that she wished to see the local magistrate.

The magistrate's quarters were dark and a bit musty, and the magistrate himself was a seasoned general of some sixty winters at least, with a shock of grizzled grey hair cut close to his head. When he heard her accent, his eyes narrowed.

"A Roman citizen?"

"Yes, my lord," she replied, and tried very hard to pretend she was speaking to elder Mathwin in her own village. She adopted a look that she hoped was the right balance of respect and need.

"And what can I help you with, citizen?"

Luned took a deep breath.

"Well, you see, sir, my village has been attacked by Saxons. We were raided a week ago, during the night. They razed most of the village and holdings and -"

He raised his hand.

"And what do you imagine that I can do for you?" he asked.

Luned bit her tongue and forced her hands to relax.

"I would appreciate it if you would send a legion to my village to -"

The small room erupted into laughter, raw and raucous.

"A legion, young woman, are you mad?" the magistrate wheezed.

Luned set her shoulders. Her head was starting to hurt. Outside there was a low rumble of thunder.

"I am a Roman citizen and according to the law if I ask for assistance you must render it," she said, and her voice rang with authority.

"I will have help or I will report this to the highest authority I can find."

They stared at her in a nasty silence, but she held her ground, glaring at each of them in turn with eyes flashing. A few turned away from her, but the magistrate's eyes grew hard.

"Very well. You have exercised your _rights_," his trilled the word in mockery, "And you will most certainly be given help."

He motioned to one of the startled men standing by the door.

"Bring the lodge books."

The man stared at him for a moment before the order seemed to make sense to him, then he left and was back within the minute with a large leather-bound tome.

"Ah, yes, let's see," the magistrate thumbed through the tome, taking care not to smudge the pages. As Luned watched, he stopped half-way down the right side of the book and tapped it.

"Bring Ursus up here."

Luned was surprised to see a look almost of fear steal over the mens' faces, but the soldier who had fetched the book took a set of keys off of the wall behind the magistrate and went out the door.

"You'd better follow him," the magistrate told her, coldly.

Unsure, Luned followed the man into the yard and toward the hovels. As they approached them, her brows snapped together and she stopped dead.

"Wait, why are you -" she began.

But the man was already unlocking the grated door to one of the small cells. The door swung open with a terrible shriek and Luned had to put her arm to her face to cover the stench.

In the darkness toward the back, she caught a glimpse of a shadowy form. In the distance, the thunder grew louder.

"Come on," the soldier barked at whoever or whatever was in the cell.

Luned watched as something slowly lumbered to its feet. Whatever it was, it was hunched over as if its back was twisted. She wondered if it really was a bear that they kept in the cell.

"Put your hands in front of you!" The soldier ordered, and the figure stopped and stretched out both arms. They were chained together with heavy links of tempered iron - expensively wrought.

"Now, come out slowly."

The man, for she could see now that it was a man, emerged from the tiny cell, unfolding limbs as he went. Once past the lintel, he began to straighten his back and Luned had to keep looking up and up and up until she reached his face. He was one of the largest and tallest men she'd ever seen, with shaggy brown hair down to his shoulders, matted and tangled in his face, and a long beard that disguised his features. She couldn't see his eyes, but if she had she would scarcely have had time to notice them because his body was much more distracting.

He wore only a pair of pants, rough and woolen and in terrible shape. His forearms and chest, now exposed, revealed pale skin decorated with delicate blue tattoos. On each forearm was a swirling design that curled toward the inside of his arms and then out to his wrists. On his chest, just below the collar bone, was some faint blue shape in equally delicate design, and on his back, when he turned to look around him, she saw a bear. It was not immediately recognizable as a bear due to the elaborateness of the design, but after a moment of staring at it she realized what it was. Then he turned around so quickly she gasped before she could stop herself. She didn't know that a man that big could move so fast.

He was staring at her, and she felt her skin start to prickle.

"You're getting out," the soldier said to the man, "Today is your lucky day."

Luned shook her head.

"What do you mean?" she heard herself asking, "What are you doing?"

The soldier didn't listen to her. Instead he slipped the key into the manacle lock and it ground the lock open. The manacles fell to the ground with a muffled thump. Lighting flashed far off.

The man flexed his fingers and then slowly rotated his wrists, experimenting with the movements. He rotated his arms, gently, first one way and then the other.

"Come, the magistrate's waiting."

The man followed the soldier and, after a stunned moment, Luned followed too, feeling as though she were in a dream. The magistrate was waiting for them at the gate of the outpost. He had a piece of paper in his hand.

"Well, are you satisfied?" he asked her.

"What are you talking about?" She stared at him.

He gestured to the prisoner.

"I'm giving you our best man," he said, lightly.

Luned looked at the prisoner, then back at the magistrate. Sudden realization dawned and she clenched both fists tightly. The thunder grew louder and it started to rain.

"You must be joking," she retorted, pushing strands of wet hair out of her face. "You can't send him back with me. You have to send me soldiers, defenders, someone who can help us!"

"I _am_ sending you someone who can help you," the magistrate answered, calmly, scribbling lightly on the parchment and handing it to his scribe.

"Ursus, that's what we call him, was, before we arrested him, quite the best warrior I've ever seen. In one instance, he massacred an entire band of my soldiers, single-handed. Blood everywhere. Of course," he added, "He's a barbarian, a Pict in fact. But that should be in your favor as he'll no doubt know the best way to defend your village from invaders. Now, I'm very busy, so I'm sure you'll excuse me."

Luned stood, speechless, cursing herself for her slow tongue. Thunder boomed, coming closer.

"You can't do this!" finally ripped out of her when the magistrate was already two steps back to the keep.

A particularly vicious bolt of lightning zig-zagged across the sky, making some of the soldiers jump. The bear man didn't flinch; he was still staring at her. Luned ground her teeth.

"I will not accept this -"

"You will accept it," the magistrate hissed, turning on her, "Or I will kill this man in front of you and you can take his place!"

Thunder grew louder, the rain was a torrent. The magistrate turned his back and walked away from her and Luned could feel the cold fury shaking her. Her fingers started to tingle and her hair was starting to friz. A bright, white light was beginning to blind her and she could feel body warming.

She managed to lift her hand, blindly, in front of her and the tingling in her fingers grew to a searing pain. She could feel something powerful forming at the end of her finger tips and if she could just -

Then something knocked into her, and she found her arms pinned to her sides. Lighting ripped directly over her head, tearing the heavens apart in an arching fork and the thunder burst so loudly that it knocked almost everyone to the ground.

Luned came back to herself panting, and felt the weight that had been above her lift off of her. A hand under her arm gently lifted her.

Her head was hazy, but she turned around to thank her helper and realized she was face to collar bone with the bear man. She gulped and looked up into his face.

"Th-thank you."

He nodded, then bent to retrieve her bag. He handed it to her and took a step back, waiting.

Luned pushed her sodden hair out of her face. It had come out of its braid and was loosely curled around her.

"I - you," she began.

"Arto," the man said.

"What?"

"Arto."

"Is that your name?" she asked, realizing with a sinking feeling that he might only speak the Pictish language.

He nodded.

_Well, at least he understands me_, she thought.

"I'm Luned."

"Luned," he repeated.

"Listen," she began in her own language, "I can't take you with me. You -"

"That was the condition," he said, shortly.

His voice was low and rough and he spoke her language with a bit of an accent.

"I'm willing to come with you," he said, in a gentler tone, "I'll help you."

Luned felt a hysterical urge to laugh and suppressed it.

"That's...very kind of you, Arto, but my village is under attack by a horde of Saxons and we need an army."

She looked back at the outpost as they made their way to the gate, and didn't see the considering look on his face.

Once they reached the gate she stopped and faced him again.

"Look, I appreciate that you would even think honoring this - this - ridiculous bargain, but you can't help me. You'll only get killed for your pains."

Arto gazed down at her for a few seconds, then crossed his arms against his chest.

"Let me go with you," he said, slowly, measuring his words carefully, "I'll help you find more fighters. And if I die, it won't be your fault."

Luned sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. The rain cooled her cheeks and her temper.

"Alright," she said, at last, "But don't think because you're helping me that I trust you. If you try anything -" she narrowed her eyes at him.

He looked at her blankly, then grimaced as her meaning dawned on him.

"My lady," he said formally, without a hint of mockery, "We have a bargain. You saved my life. I'm yours to command."

Luned looked at him askance, but, even with all of the grime, it was difficult to ignore the fact that Arto was a very well-built man. She shook her head.

"At least until we reach my village," she said, "And don't call me 'my lady.'"

He nodded and took her pack, giving her an expectant look.

"Well, the first thing we need to do is get you some clothes, I guess," she sighed.

"And a bath."


End file.
